The First Attempt
by Mycake
Summary: The prequel to Stockholmes Syndrome. In which Sherlock and John have their long and interesting conversation and they decide to give it a try and become exclusive partners. As well, we see John's "First Attempt". Need I say slash? Johnlock John/Sherlock Smut, Fluff, Humour, Some Angst
1. Proper Technique

"John!"

_One yell. He's fine. He just needs something. Something most likely right next to him._

"John!"

_Two now. He really wants that something. It is possibly further than a few inches from his grasp._

"John! Get in here!

_Three yells. The kitchen is on fire and he is too busy or lazy to reach the fire extinguisher. God save us._

"I'm up!" John screamed with his face pressed against his pillow. He gave his pillow one last hug and turned to view the clock.

_Four in the morning. Came in round... three? Three-thirty? Gives me a thirty minute rest. Now I'll be up the rest of the bleeding day. This better be important._

John stumbled down the staircase to the landing. He was in a daze after another miserable evening. An evening Sherlock somehow ruined. John was becoming more and more defensive about girls breaking up with him about Sherlock. Something about this last one though, really struck a chord.

"_Have you been tested for the HIV? You know? Wiv you being all... you know? Wiv your flatmate." Yeah, she was a fine one. Sherlock saw her coming a mile away. Told me to stay away from her without explicitly saying 'stay away'. He just came up, insulted her right to her face about her economic status, her dress, her face, her intelligence. Well I just thought 'Why the nerve of Sherlock!" Instead he was saving me from another dating fiasco. Isn't he the cause though? If it weren't for him, well then why would she suspect I'd be AIDs ridden? Well then again... she'd still have that nasty accent, the teeth, the figure... Right he saved me, better not let him know._

John found himself in the middle of the living space, he had ended up there on auto-pilot. He stared at Sherlock. Uncertain that Sherlock even knew he had come down to see what he could possibly want at this hour.

"Pen" Sherlock said shortly.

"You have... Sherlock! I woke up out of a dead sleep! I half expected the entire flat to be up in flames. But you know what? You probably wouldn't have given me the decency to wake me up if it were. Instead you want your bleeding pen!"

"Yes, the one on the table, next to the sofa."

"Get your own damned pen!"

"Why? You're over there, just pick it up." John huffed and rolled his eyes. He walked over to the coffee table.

"No pen! No bleeding fucking pen on the fucking table."

"Language John. Oh, right. It's in my other hand. Well... Night then" Sherlock's gaze didn't leave his scope while John started fuming. He was about to explode and he tried to bring himself down and remain calm.

_Think of the redeeming qualities of your flatmate. Think... think... His coat? Damnit! There are no redeeming qualities to the man!_

"God damnit Sherlock! You ruin every chance I have with a girl! Are you sabotaging me on purpose? Is this how you get your kicks?"

"No, you appear to do a good job of sabotaging yourself." Sherlock's lip twitched into a quick grin.

"Every last girl is convinced we're in some sort of homosexual relationship. Now everyone just laughs when I say I'm not gay. Is this what you want? For me to just give up?"

"John, I'm saving you"

"What for yourself?"

"No! No. From marriage, children, they are utterly disappointing. I'm saving you." John looked at Sherlock incredulously.

"I want children!" John shouted.

"No. You want to procreate without creating anything."

"It isn't just sex Sherlock. I want a relationship. Someone to do things, non-sexual things, with."

"Isn't that what we do?" Sherlock looked up from his microscope and looked directly into John's eyes.

"No... yes... Well it isn't... We don't cuddle on the sofa and watch telly do we? God, not that I want to." John blushed.

"That sounds... awful. Who would want that?"

"I would! I do. With a female. Not my flatmate."

"Who said I would do... that thing... with you?"

"Cuddle Sherlock... you get close, hug each other, and stay like that."

"For how long?"

"I don't know... thirty minutes or something."

"Thirty minutes?"

"It isn't precise! I mean... it's just lovely." Sherlock grimaced at John's words. He turned to return his focus on the microscope, he twirled the pen in his hand and tapped it on the table. "Why am I even friends with you? You are the biggest cock-block... sherlock-block is what they should call it." Sherlock looked at John with a slight confusion in his eyes, his brows furrowed. "Cock-block, it's when you get in between your mate and his girl so they don't... have... sex..." John coughed into his hand.

"I don't do that" Sherlock sneered.

"Well not physically! You get in there psychologically and scare off every one of my potential girlfriends. I can't keep a girl for more than three dates now!"

"Two."

"What?"

"Statistically you have been averaging two dates. However with the recent trend we may be seeing the number declining"

"What, to absolute nil then? If that's your plan all along, you might as well stamp a label on my forehead that says 'Sherlock's John' because with you, I won't be seeing any action for quite some time." Sherlock grinned.

"You see plenty of action on our case work. Shouldn't that please you?" Sherlock knew what John meant and was being down right cruel.

"You know what? You're right. I just want a shag. I don't care at all, about these girls I've been trying to hook up with."

"Finally, we're getting somewhere." Sherlock laughed.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"John, you don't need these women." John took a step back, he was already a fair distance from Sherlock but he was becoming concerned with the way this conversation was turning.

"Sherlock... Are you... you know?" John stammered.

"Hm?" Sherlock looked completely innocent like he truly didn't understand what John was inferring. John gulped.

"Erm... like... gay..."

"Of course not!" John let out a huge sigh of relief. "Purely asexual, I'm not even a sexual relationship with myself. Don't be ridiculous John."

"Well... How come you don't like women then?"

"Why reproduce with genetic recombination when you already have the perfect genome? It would only result in a lesser being."

"Wait, so you'd clone yourself before you would have a kid... the normal way?"

"I would, yet ethics are still problematic. Plus I was quite a terror as a child. I couldn't imagine another me running about. Nope. I suppose it will just be me then." Sherlock chuckled. He was being playful. This was frightening for John. He was concerned once more.

"Yeah, but what about the woman?" John asked.

"What woman?"

"The Woman! You know the one you supposedly slept with."

"Oh, well that woman. Well she is none of your concern. She's dead remember." John opened his mouth to retaliate "John, would you like a cup of tea?"

"Um... yeah sure?" John looked at him questioning.

_Since when does Sherlock make tea?_

"Good, make me a cup while you're at it." John let out a sigh.

_Right, he only makes tea for his mortal enemies._

John slunk into the kitchen, filled the kettle, plugged it in, and started to hunt down some tea. All that was left was some cheap traditional breakfast tea. John went for the fridge.

"Sherlock, Christ! What do you do with all the milk?"

"Blocks nonspecific antibody binding. Get more if there is none left."

"I'm not going out at this hour for a spot of milk."

"Good, just sugar in mine."

"You fix your own. I never do it _right_"

"Well! If you would purchase the sugar in cube form, perhaps I would have a consistent cup of tea. Then again, you would also have to let the water cool so it doesn't scald the tea leaves, remove the bag when it is properly infused, and perhaps more important, not buy that pre-packaged abomination they call tea."

"We can't afford loose leaf tea for daily drinking, nor would I like to go through the hassle of getting your tea right with that stuff, you're even more picky with it. If that's even possible"

"I am not picky."

"Yes. You are."

"If I were picky, I would refuse to drink the tea you mess up."

"You only drink the tea half the time any way! The rest you let set on the table until it goes cold and you don't want it any more."

"You most certainly don't get the tea right half of the time. I still drink your mistakes."

"You know Sherlock? You're a mistake. Why I ever decided to move in with a nutter like you?"

"You needed someone to share the rent."

"I just happened to choose a hybrid psycho-socio-path." Sherlock grinned at John's diagnoses.

"Well, I take it you're over your pursuit of a woman then?" Sherlock said suddenly.

"I'm not... For the ten millionth time... not gay."

"Never said you were. Just this pursuit of women is foolish and you expend way too much energy if you are looking for a simple... _shag_"

"What are you suggesting?" John was beyond concerned now.

"Give up." John let out a slow sigh. "Pursue me then." John coughed, he absolutely hacked. He knocked over a tea-cup and it crashed on to the floor. Shattering into tiny pieces. John held on to his chest, still coughing as he reached back for the dust pan. Sherlock snorted at John's reaction. He offered no help as John scrambled to catch his breath.

"What?" John asked, his face was red from lack of oxygen. He found the dust pan and broom and began picking up the pieces of glass. He positioned his backside to the counters so Sherlock couldn't get a good look.

_I knew it! I knew it! He is just a predator. Lured me into the flat... waited five years... well he's a lazy and slow predator. _

"You waste my time when you go on these endless hunts for a suitable girlfriend. Why not just do all those non-sexual _things_ with me and then you won't have the urge to waste my time."

"Because! That's weird, it's awkward, and I don't want to! Not with a bloke." John threw the first bit in the bin and went for a second look. He had stepped on too many pieces of glass in the past few years, he knew the whole kitchen was a minefield. He was likely picking up glass from other accidents that Sherlock didn't feel like cleaning or telling John he broke something. Of course John nagged about Sherlock breaking things, they were usually John's things.

"Why not try it? Experiment with it. Then if you don't want to continue, we stop."

"What things are you proposing we do that we don't already? Hold hands?"

"That cuddling bit, kiss-"

"Hold up! No... nope. Too weird."

"It is completely non-sexual."

"It is foreplay, for sex. No."

"I don't do foreplay."

"I bet you don't, you just jump right in don't you? Done this a thousand times with twice as many blokes?" Sherlock looked down at the floor.

_He is never embarrassed. I hurt his feelings! That's no good._

"I'm not saying you're some sort of slag." John stood up and place a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "It is just weird to be intimate with your flatmate if you're not gay."

"How is it intimate if it is completely non-sexual?" Sherlock inquired. John turned away from Sherlock and turned off the kettle.

"Intimacy includes everything, the kissing, the hand holding, the cuddling, the... intercourse." John coughed once more. "Why would you want to kiss anyhow?"

"Never really tried it."

"Never? That's impossible. You must have-" John cut himself short when Sherlock returned his focus to the microscope. John was fed up, he pulled the slide off the stage and held it away from Sherlock. "We are having a serious conversation, I would appreciate-"

"No! Don't hold it like that the cover slip will slide off, it's-" the cover slip slowly slid down the slide, lost suction, and fell to the floor. Sherlock grabbed his head in his hands and groaned. "Wet mounted..." Sherlock finished. Sherlock breathed deep, removed his hands, and stood.

"I'm sorry, I thought... accidents happen." Sherlock retreated to his bedroom, his shoulders slumped, his head pointed at the ground. He fell on to his bed with a thud. John followed in after him. Sherlock had fallen face first on to the mattress and was smothering himself. His arms lay at his sides, he began groaning. "Listen, I'm real sorry, I didn't mean to ruin everything, we were just in the middle of an important talk." John reached out and patted Sherlock's back.

"Innocent people will have been shamelessly murdered because of _you. _No repercussions for the vicious killer." Sherlock turned his head and glared at John.

"Oops?" John shrugged his shoulders. Sherlock turned his head away to conceal his amusement.

"You don't care" Sherlock huffed.

"I thought caring doesn't stop bullets, or something of the like" John chuckled.

"You are a terrible flatmate, refusing to experiment with me."

"That is so disgusting! Maybe if you were a female... man you would make an ugly girl. I guess not even then." John laughed and leaned over to see if Sherlock was reacting the same to his joke. Sherlock was looking quite sad, distant. "You're supposed to be asexual?"

"You're supposed to be heterosexual" Sherlock sneered.

"Still not gay!"

"Keep telling yourself that, maybe it will come true" Sherlock pressed up on his hands and turned around to sit next to John. "Why not?" Sherlock looked directly into John's eyes searching for an answer. John began to scoot away uncomfortably.

"You're a bloke?" John questioned.

"That's not an issue"

"No, that's _the _issue."

"You said even if I were a women you would feel the same."

"No, I said you'd make an ugly woman. If you were you in a woman body with a woman face. I don't know. Maybe?" Sherlock let out a sigh.

"Maybe." The word felt disgusting coming out of his mouth. Sherlock threw himself against the pillows and curled up into a ball. He started kicking at John with his feet. "Leave, I'm done with you."

"No, we need to have this chat." John crossed his arms as Sherlock continued nudging him with his foot.

"There is apparently no chance you will give it a try. You are wasting my time. Again." Sherlock pulled his feet close and stopped nudging John.

"I hate when you get like this. You are unreasonable. You are the most logical person I know and when you are when one of your moods you become so... childish."

"Thanks, Mycroft" Sherlock huffed and started to shiver.

"Cold?" No response. Sherlock continued to shiver in silence. "Fine, I'll tuck you in. Not your boyfriend though." John grabbed the bottom of the comforter and tried to pull as much as he could over Sherlock who was laying on the top half. He barely covered Sherlock's feet.

_Obviously, he won't move. Then he'll whine that he's still cold. Can't move him myself. _

John looked to the other side of the bed

_Right, I'll swaddle him. He's a big baby anyhow._

John walked over to the other side of the bed, grabbed the comforter and folded it over Sherlock width-wise. Now Sherlock was all wrapped up, still grumpy, but warm.

"Night." John turned to make his leave.

"I'm not sleeping" Sherlock grunted.

"No, we're going in for a long day tomorrow, you need sleep. Night."

"I'm not going and I'm not sleeping."

"Why... why wouldn't you go in? You're in the middle of a case."

"No, John. _We_ are in the middle of a case. At least we would be, if you weren't all over anything with two legs and phenotypically _female_." Sherlock spat out the word 'female' as if it was an insult to be born with an extra X chromosome.

"Would you rather I be with men? It isn't happening! I have no interest in any of it. I already have all the parts. I want to explore something new, something exciting. Something _woman_."

"Women are far from exciting. They are hormonal beasts that just want to attract males so they can breed. Then they bite their heads off and keep half of the man's belongings and never let him see his offspring. Do you really want that John?"

"You are such the expert. Seeing as you've never been married, had children, any of that!"

"I've seen enough, no thank you. Lestrade? You want to be Lestrade?"

"Greg is a great guy. His wife... ex-wife... well she's a bitch."

"Exactly. Women are useless. They-"

"Oh shut up. Mummy Holmes? She was useless?"

"Mothers don't count."

"They're women too"

"Hardly."

"Sherlock... You're just sore because you want me to hop in bed with you." Sherlock shot up and brought himself within an inch from John's nose.

"I never said I would sleep with you." Sherlock said through his teeth. He pointed to the door. John slid out quite embarrassed. Sherlock slammed his door hard. John started to walk away.

_Great. I've upset him. I don't even want to do intimate things with a man. Let alone Sherlock. He's just so..._

John's mind flashed with all sort of images of Sherlock. When they first met, him running off into the night, Sherlock and him jumping off tall buildings together, the fall...

_He was dead. He came back. Came back for me. He's ruined my life and made my life all at once. I should kiss that man. _

John pounded on the door.

"Sherlock!" He gave the door knob a twist and he was surprised the door was unlocked. "Listen, the things I said. You know. You're right." Sherlock lay face down on the bed once more, he had kicked off the comforter completely and was feigning death. "These women have all been rubbish. It may be years, decades before I meet _the one_ and then it will be too late. I'm past my prime, I need to be more realistic." Sherlock mumbled something into the sheets. John turned Sherlock on to his side, he continued as if John heard the first half.

"You call me selfish. I only do what is best for you." John looked at Sherlock half-lidded.

_Wake me up? Middle of the night? To fetch you a pen? Selfish git._

"Right, you're an angel, you give and give and I just take and take."

"Glad you see it my way then. What are we trying first?" Sherlock sat up. He looked a bit excited.

"I don't... I don't think we... I came to an agreement." Sherlock looked at John with sad, disappointed eyes. "Right, if I kiss you, you'll shut up?"

"I shouldn't be able to speak with my airway partially blocked." John rolled his eyes.

_This is a bad idea._

John leaned forward, Sherlock leaned back.

"What?" John asked.

"Close your eyes, they're weird."

"Thanks Sherlock, you close yours, they're weird."

"It isn't proper form. You close your eyes then we come together."

"This isn't! What, have you been studying?" John leaned back as well.

"How could I not, people practically suck off each other's faces in public. I took note and if you aren't serious and don't adopt the proper form, the deal is off."

"What deal?"

"The deal! Satisfying your need to do _things_." Sherlock waved away the word with his hand.

"I have other needs too." John said plainly.

"You have two hands." John landed a punch in Sherlock's arm. A little rougher than a play punch but not enough to bruise. Sherlock winced and gave it a rub.

"Right, kiss me before I change my mind. I'll close my eyes when we're closer so I don't knock into your forehead."

"You have no proprioception" Sherlock huffed.

"I know where I am in space and time, I have no idea about you though. I close my eyes and you'll dart from the room and laugh your head off when I lean in and fall over."

"I don't want you looking at me, it is odd." Sherlock grimaced.

"Fine" John grabbed both sides of Sherlock's face, closed his eyes, and smashed their lips together. He pulled away Sherlock's face and released. "There, happy?"

"No, you did it wrong. Sure you closed your eyes but that... no... it will never do. Is that all you do? No wonder you can't keep a girl for more than two dates."

"I'm not about to engage in some passionate kiss with my flatmate to show... what am I showing?"

"That you have terrible form?" Sherlock suggested.

"I so... I do not!" John was steaming. His face was blushing with embarrassment. He shook his head slightly. Then looked to Sherlock. "Again, then." John moved in more gently. Their lips met, he shut his eyes and let a breath out his nose. A small shock went down his spine. He pressed closer. John opened his mouth slightly and willed Sherlock to open his with the tip of his tongue. Sherlock grabbed John by the shoulders and pushed him away. Sherlock rubbed his lips with his sleeve.

"You, licked me." Sherlock said disgusted.

"You... you said... proper form." John panted.

"I never agreed to tongues."

"We never agreed on anything! It is just kissing. Now come here!" John grabbed the back of Sherlock's neck and drew him in for a deep kiss. He was able to get Sherlock's mouth open. He ran his fingers up into Sherlock's hair. Sherlock mirrored John's actions and ran a hand up into John's hair. John let out a small moan and they battled for dominance with their tongues. Suddenly Sherlock pulled John away.

"Done." He said shortly. John let his grip loosen and he dropped his hand.

"What?"

"Tried it. Didn't like it. What's next?" Sherlock asked equally excited. For him this was an adventure. How he loved adventures.

"But... you didn't... didn't like it?" John asked disappointed. He had enjoyed it quite a bit.

"No, quite slippery, not pleasing. You're taste isn't that appealing. Fish n chips was it? And a beer? Not good second hand. Most likely wasn't good the first round either. Pub was cheap. So was your date."

"Thanks." John sighed. He looked down at his hands.

"What's next?"

"Bed"

"John, I said I wouldn't-"

"No. Me in mine, you in yours. I'm going to bed. My bed." John went to stand. Sherlock grabbed his wrist.

"Cuddle?" Sherlock suggested.

"No... you're being just... just mean. I don't want to." Sherlock tightened his grip. He looked into John's sad eyes. Sherlock showed no empathy, no remorse, he was just looking like Sherlock always does. Intrigued.

"Needs practice. Desensitization. I'm new to this idea. I want to try the cuddling bit."

"It's been a long night, the sun will be up in a bit. I just want a few winks of sleep." John groaned.

"Fine, I'll kick you out in thirty minutes."

"Unh, fine! Lie down and roll over on your side." Sherlock responded immediately and turned his back to John without any argument.

_Wow. That's a first. _

John crawled into bed, lay down next to Sherlock and propped himself up on one elbow. He thought a moment. Then he wrapped an arm around Sherlock's chest and pulled him in close. John pressed the side of his face against Sherlock's warm back. He let out a small sigh. Sherlock remained silent. He didn't flinch or twitch when John had placed an arm around him. John's mind started racing.

_Is he enjoying this? He'd tell me if this was bothering him? Right? It's Sherlock, of course he would voice his opinion. I should check._

John went to move his arm and Sherlock clutched on tight to John's wrist and drew it against him.

_All right. He is enjoying this. Then again I thought he enjoyed the kiss. That was something. How? Only Sherlock. Cuddling then, this will be our thing. I can live with this, this is lovely. Nice. Warm._

John let his eyes close.

_I'll just let my eyes take a rest. I'll just open them when the thirty minutes is up. Right. Just a little rest. It's all I need._

John immediately fell into a deep sleep. Sherlock's breathing was rhythmic as well. Sherlock had lost count of the time as he was trying to make this cuddling precise. Thirty minutes on the dot, no more, no less. Instead they both passed out until ten. John woke to a voice. A woman's voice. His landlady. John shot up and released his arm from Sherlock who groaned slightly.

"My, you two are sweet. Could've been lot worse. Then again, seen it all. Well, with Sherlock, perhaps not. Brought you two up some breads, been at it baking again. I can't bring myself to cut back the recipe you know." Mrs. Hudson chatted away as she placed a tray on Sherlock's night stand. "The detective inspector called. Bout four times. Wondering where you two were. Said you were still in bed. Didn't say you two were in the same bed. Thought you'd prefer that." John rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He let his head fall back on to the bed post.

"Mrs. Hudson, we didn't. I'm not. Oh God. Thanks for the bread."

"Any time dear." Mrs. Hudson smiled at the sight of her boys. Could have been a whole lot worse. She thought she better take up the habit of knocking. She turned and left swiftly, gently closing the door behind her. John stretched his arms and legs, yawned and looked toward the clock.

_Sherlock said Lestrade was expecting us at eight. It is half past ten. Now all of Scotland Yard will suspect we slept together. Well, we did sleep together, but we didn't 'sleep' together. _

"Sherlock" John pushed at Sherlock's shoulder. "Wake up. We're late."

"Muh" Sherlock groaned.

"Come on. I'm tired too. We promised Lestrade."

"Reverend. Candlestick. In the study"

"You arse, that's Cluedo! Now get up."

"No... I didn't have a proper cuddle."

"We did! For over five hours."

"Too long. Thirty minutes." Sherlock mumbled.

"Well then. You have yourself" John counted on his hands "Ten, near eleven proper cuddles."

"The continuity diminishes the effect. Show proper technique... for once." John groaned and wrapped his arm around Sherlock one more time.

"You know, thirty minutes was an approximation" John mumbled into Sherlock's back.

"It is a precise measurement. No talking."

"I never said there was no talking when-"

"I say." Sherlock grunted. John sighed heavily and moved himself in close. He felt himself drift off once more. Suddenly his arm was thrown off and Sherlock shot up out of bed. "Thirty-minutes, down to the second. There! Now wasn't that much better?" John groaned, half asleep. John half opened his eyes. Sherlock looked the best he had in a while. He was exhilarated, ready for what the day might hold. John on the other hand looked mostly dead. He wanted to crawl under the covers and not wake up for a month. Sherlock grabbed John by both arms and tugged him out of the bed and on to the floor. John hit the floor with a light thud. John stood up slowly.

"We off to see Lestrade then?" John asked shaking his head. Sherlock had a funny way of waking a person up.

"No, I've solved the case. Send a text, we're staying in."

"Why... why am I up then? Who? What was the-"

"Was a Reverend, not the green one. The couple had the same wine, administered by the reverend. On the slide, the one you decided to destroy" John sighed and shook his head. "Amatoxin. Secreted from _Pholiotina filaris. _A common mushroom in the pacific north-west. The reverend had recently been to Oregon, to see his sister. Although it would be quite unusual to receive herpes from one's own sister."

"How-"

"His cold sore. It was fresh, first one he's ever had. He contracted it over seas. Never you mind. He killed the couple with wine he poisoned because the bride was someone he knew. His cousin's daughter. She knew about the affair. She threatened him. He crushed some of the wild mushrooms he had collected from his trip into the wine. Perhaps he didn't want her dead, maybe just severely ill so she wouldn't speak. Yet there were lethal levels of amatoxin present. The couple died of liver failure shortly after their honeymoon."

"What about... the candlestick? The study?"

"That was a bit of fun."

"Right. Fun. When a newly wed couple dies a painful death. It's fun."

"Why they didn't discover the toxin in the autopsy eludes me. All's well then. Text Lestrade. Reverend, toadstools, in the church."

"I'll make a call then" John rolled his eyes. He made way for the living space while Sherlock entered the bathroom. John walked up the stairs to his room. He walked in and spotted his mobile on the bed. He picked it up and looked up Lestrade in his contacts. He gave him a ring. John plopped down on the bed as he waited.

"_John, it's about time. We're on another case now, any news on the couple?"_

"Um yeah. The reverend that married them poisoned them with... Shit. Hold on." John thought a moment, his brain was still fuzzy. "Some mycotoxin and they died of liver failure."

"_I'm going to need more details. Where's Sherlock?"_

"In the shower."

"_Good night last night then?" _Lestrade chuckled into the phone.

"God, would you... No. No it wasn't. The girl said I had HIV and I left."

Lestrade hissed into the phone "_Ouch. Best you let that one go then. When Sherlock is all pretty and proper, you tell him to give me a call."_

"You know he won't."

"_I know. Tell him anyway."_

"Thanks."

"_You coming in?"_

"You mean, is Sherlock coming in. No. He has some sort of experiment he's working on."

"_As long as he isn't experimenting on you. Well g'day then. I'll text if this case becomes interesting. Looks like a simple kid run over by a taxi cab case." _John grimaced. The way the police spoke of such horrible events made him get a knot in his stomach. They blamed Sherlock for being insensitive. The whole lot of them were guilty of being socially unacceptable.

"Right. I'll tell him to give you a call. Later"

"_Later_" John heard the phone click off. He let it drop to his side.

_I made out with my flatmate and held him while he slept. This relationship just reached a new level of strange. I'm not even attracted to men. Why did I ever? He didn't even enjoy it! That's the worst bit. He said it was slippery. He deduced my dinner. I need to brush my teeth before bed. _

John sighed. He picked up his phone and looked. No new messages. No e-mails. Nothing. Not even an acknowledgement that he took out that dumb bitch out to dinner and paid for her verbal abuse. Sherlock was right, it is a waste of time to pursue a women that will just bite your head off and take half. He enjoyed holding his flatmate if that's all that would be between them. It felt comforting. It is all he really wanted.

_That and sex. I've got two hands. Two callused sandpaper hands. Bet Sherlock's hands are... Oh my God. I'm not thinking of Sherlock doing... No. He would never. Would he? His hands are smooth, barely used. Not weathered one bit. Long, lanky, manly hands on my..._

John sat up and grunted. He shook his head of the thought.

_Stick to cuddling. Just don't press your erection on his back. Oh God... God... Why? Why would my mind go to that. I'm not a pervert. I'm not gay... _

John heard a loud crash. Several smaller crashes. Then a door slam.

_He broke something. It's mine. The graceful oaf. He can pull the testicles off a fruit fly, yet around my things he is a child in a china shop. This is why we can't have nice things._

John sat up, pressed himself off the bed. Stood, turned about on his heels and calmly made his way down the steps and into the living space. He sighed and began looking. His eyes were focused on the kitchen floor. He stared a moment. Waiting for the rage to come to him.

_There it is. Yes here it comes._

"SHERLOCK HOLMES!" John positively screamed. "My kettle! My kettle! The electric fucking kettle!" John roared in anger "I'm going to kill you! Bring you back to life and kill you twice!" John stormed toward Sherlock's door. "I'm going to shove you in a vat of acid and turn you into a human goo." He pounded on the door. "Then I'll dump you into the Thames and take a row boat out every morn, so I can dance on your watery grave! You son of a bitch. I know you're in there." John heard the sound of footsteps behind him race out the front door. John turned abruptly to chase his flatmate down the staircase and out the front door. When John made it to the door, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. Sherlock knew the streets of London better than any man.

"You know what! Fine! Can't get in the bloody flat without a set of keys then." John slammed the door shut and locked the deadbolt.

"I heard shoutin'" Mrs. Hudson came out of her flat and looked quite concerned. She was all dressed up, likely another date, or she was looking her best for dusting. She did that sometimes, to see if she could throw Sherlock through a loop. One time she succeeded in it. It made her positively giddy to throw him off like that. Since then Sherlock had been more careful with deducing Mrs. Hudson's evening plans by her dress. "You two were so sweet earlier, what happened?"

"We're not... my God. We weren't being sweet. Sherlock wouldn't let me go"

"Looked quite lovely to me."

"Far from it. That bloody maniac. He destroyed my kettle."

"I have an extra. 'fraid it's for the stove-top though. Never can figure out those electric ones. Far too many buttons. I just want my tea, no fuss." She looked into John's eyes "You'll be ok then?"

"Yeah... probably. I'll take that kettle then." Mrs. Hudson smiled. "I'll use it to bludgeon him upside the head when comes round."

"Oh come now, you two will make up. You always do" She placed a hand on John's shoulder briefly and turned to re-enter her flat to dig through her knick-knacks for her extra kettle. "John, you mind giving me a hand. Unlock the door, when Sherlock's ready he'll be back. You know how he is."

"A child"

"Like a little lost lamb. He'll be back. Never you worry."

"I'm not worried."

John entered Mrs. Hudson's tiny cluttered kitchen and watched as she started looking through the cupboards.

"Look through this one then." She said tapping a lower cabinet with her finger. She furrowed her brow as she kept opening random cupboards. John leaned down and opened up the cabinet and started to search through. Mrs. Hudson had two of every small appliance and piece of bake-ware, it was like the Noah's arc of kitchen supplies. "I don't suppose, well best be checking." She turned and walked off leaving John alone to search for the missing kettle. The other was on the back burner of the stove-top. He had really liked the electric one. It was quick, didn't burn down the flat if he left it on. When Sherlock left it on, more like. Sherlock would now be playing with fire to make tea for his most hated enemies. Like his brother.

He never made tea for John but every time Mycroft popped by, Sherlock was suddenly self-sufficient. He was likely showing off how he could take care of himself. He never remembered to eat, sleep, he did keep himself clean at least. He was near cat like in his cleaning rituals. He wouldn't bother picking up the flat for five minutes but if it involved grooming, he'd spend an hour or more on himself. He never took care of himself when it came to illness or eating healthy, but he was absolutely clean.

John finally spotted the kettle Mrs. Hudson was referring to. He pulled it out just as Mrs. Hudson walked back into the kitchen. "That's the one then."

"It's pink... with... hearts..."

"Valentine's gift. From the ex" She gave a slight grimace. "Didn't want to part with it, in case the other started acting up. You have it. No charge" She chuckled lightly.

"Thanks." John stared at it and moved his hands on it.

_Who would make a kettle with hearts? A pink kettle with hearts. I need to get a new kettle. _

John heard the front door open. He clutched the kettle tight and smacked it on to his open palm. He was ready to beat Sherlock with a pink kettle. A pink kettle with hearts.

"Let him be, John. He likely didn't mean to smash the kettle. You know he doesn't like apologies. You'll scare him off again."

"Good! Maybe he'd keep his bloody hands off my things."

"Let your head cool. Have a cuppa. Down here. You're not-"

"Thinking clearly? Yeah I'm thinking clearly. I'm thinking of... You're right." John set himself on to a kitchen chair and placed the kettle on the table. He placed his head in his hands. "He's driving me mad of late." Mrs. Hudson filled the pink kettle with water and exchanged it with the plain silver one. She placed it on the burner and cranked the dial to high. John looked at the plain silver kettle, no hearts.

"Didn't think you'd be liking the pink one. Bit of a joke." She giggled. John smiled a bit.

"Thanks. Yeah. This is great. Much better" John laughed.

"It'll take some effort for Sherlock to break that"

"He'll find a way." John sighed.

"What's this about then?" Mrs. Hudson put her hands on her hips and leaned against the counter.

"The kettle?"

"It's a bit more than that." John threw his head back and groaned. He didn't want to have this talk with his landlady.

"He's just being a..."

_Prick. Bitch. Twat. Arse. Pain. Good pain isn't a curse._

"He's being a pain. Bout things."

"What type?" Mrs. Hudson was starting to really pry. John was becoming more uncomfortable.

"Completely non... not... it's intimate stuff." John regretted using the word 'intimate' immediately. "Not _that _intimate. Like... you know."

"Like this morning?"

"That's... a non-issue. He enjoys that bit. It's... he doesn't... get it." John sighed. "He drove a wedge between me and every girl I came in contact with. Then he starts this thing. Called it an 'experiment' like I'm some sort of test monkey... God why am I telling you this?" Mrs. Hudson shrugged her shoulders. It was a fresh topic and John was speaking as if this had gone on for years, this experimenting. Maybe not. Maybe Mrs. Hudson knows this is a recent development. What did it matter?

"Did you tell him how you feel? Bout this?"

"He doesn't get _feelings_. He'd shrug it off like anything else."

"I think you're not giving him the chance." The kettle whistled. Mrs. Hudson put it off to the side and waited.

"I... I gave him plenty of chances. He's the one. He..." John stuttered. John wanted this more than Sherlock. He wanted to be intimate with someone, anyone. It just so happened his flatmate wanted to help him out. Was he not being selfish, for once? Not likely, he probably wanted this as well. It was consent. John liked that. It was rarely that way with women. "Right! I wanted this as well. He's still a prick. God. Sorry." John rubbed his forehead.

"It's all right. Heard a lot worse." She grabbed the tea-cups, placed a bag in each, and poured the water over. She placed one on the table. John looked at the label 'Earl Grey'. Perhaps his least favourite type of tea. He'd drink it. Tasted like an old English gentleman in a suit. Not that he'd know. Better than the dirty dish water flavour he was becoming accustomed to, because it was cheap. No wonder Sherlock didn't drink his tea half the time. He'd get some top of the line tea, in silk sachets. Even he couldn't mess those up.

John pulled out the bag, tossed it in the bin. Gave the tea a smell. He drank politely. Trying not to make a face at the fruity citrus taste. He preferred his tea without fruit. Fruit made it taste more like syrup. However it didn't take milk, perhaps he could save a fortune not buying milk every other day.

_Non-specific binding. God. Like he thought I knew what that meant. What kind of experiments is he running in that kitchen? Probably needed the kettle for one. Forgot it was full of water and... He must have thrown it to the ground. Who knocks over a full kettle? It wasn't even on the edge. I don't even want to know. It will just start another fight._

John finished half and set it on the table.

"I should be seeing Sherlock then. He told Lestrade, well more like I told Lestrade, he wasn't coming to the yard today. Wanted to spend the day in."

"You two make up then. I'll give you your space. Less I hear gunshots."

"Call Lestrade first. I don't want Sherlock being locked up, unless he deserves it." John turned to leave. Mrs. Hudson handed him the silver kettle. John smiled and gave her a nod. He left and Mrs. Hudson closed the door behind him. Sherlock was waiting. Sitting on the top step, his chin resting on one hand, he looked bored.

"Look! New kettle. All is forgiven. Where'd you make it to then?" John started climbing the steps. Sherlock made no response. John reached the top and placed a hand on Sherlock's head and pushed him to the side. Sherlock's chin fell off his hand as his elbow slipped off his knee. He sat a moment longer while John entered the flat.

That's when John noticed what must have been the small crashes he heard. Right next to the electric kettle were five saucers, in pieces. The ones with the gold rims.

"Hm." John said to himself.

_That set belongs to Sherlock. I shouldn't care. I do though. I really do._

"The saucers as well Sherlock? Do you really not like tea?" He asked mockingly. "Well at least we still have some cups left. A new kettle as well. You're not making any tea until we get a new electric one then. You and fire don't mix." John stepped back and peered toward the staircase. Sherlock's back was turned to John. He had returned his hand to rest his chin on. "Come on in. I'm not mad." Sherlock didn't budge. "You're getting off scot-free. Now get in here." John said sternly. "Fine, the door is closing. I'm not letting you in then. Bye!" John shut the door and locked it. He shook his head. There was a small scratch at the door.

_He's a bleeding cat I swear. _

"What?" John said swinging the door open.

"I want in." Sherlock said glumly. John stepped aside and let him in. Sherlock made way for the sofa and threw himself on to it. He let out a deep sigh.

"You feel any remorse for breaking the kettle? The saucers, your saucers?" Sherlock shook his head 'no'. John groaned. "You ran off!"

"You said you'd kill me twice and bathe me in acid. It sounded like a premeditated murder. One that was well thought out."

"I... My God! If I were going to kill you I would have done it fifty times already. I'm not going to viciously murder you over a kettle. I will yell though."

"You do."

"Sorry! You constantly break everything I own."

"Everything" Sherlock scoffed.

"Should I list them?"

"Unh. No, not again."

"The kettle, the saucers, my bed post, the sig, the oven door, my wrist-"

"That! That was an accident."

"You pushed me down a flight of stairs in pursuit of a criminal, because I was running up faster than you. I was in a cast for weeks!"

"It was a hair-line fracture. There wasn't even any bleeding."

"My wrist cracks when I rotate it." John demonstrated.

"You act like I enjoyed it."

"Normal, ordinary folk, don't shove their friends down a flight of stairs."

"It was hardly five steps, you need to learn how to fall more gracefully."

"You need to learn to keep your hands to yourself."

"How am I supposed to be intimate without touching then?" Sherlock rolled on to his belly and buried his face into the cushions.

"Right. While you have your sulk. I'm making a list. We need to do the... I need to do the shopping." John pulled out the paper from the drawer and grabbed Sherlock's pen off the kitchen table.

_Milk obviously. Then meat, eggs, bread, sugar, perhaps sugar cubes..._

He looked over at Sherlock.

_Tea... Hm..._

"Anything you need?" Sherlock mumbled into the cushion "God, Sherlock, I can't hear you when you speak into the cushions."

"LUBRICANT!" Sherlock shouted. John dropped the pen.

"Christ! Sherlock! Mrs. Hudson is down stairs! Keep it down!"

"You said what I needed! I need _LUBRICANT" _Sherlock shouted twice as loud. John stormed over and grabbed a pillow. He started to smack Sherlock upside the head. Sherlock started laughing.

"What? You're upset by my shouting LUBRICANT?"

"Shut the hell up! Half of Baker street will hear you!"

"LUB-" Sherlock started. John pressed the pillow on to the back of Sherlock's head and held it there. Sherlock flailed a bit before he went limp. John let go.

"You done then?"

"You tried to kill me."

"Just knock you out, just for a bit. Now what do you really need from the store?"

"Some... lubricant?" Sherlock looked up at John.

"You can't be serious. We just... we only just. I'm not ready for that. I thought..."

"I need it for an experiment." Sherlock said sadly.

"With me?" Sherlock nodded. "You are such a perv!" He hit Sherlock upside the head once more. "I'm not going out alone to buy lube."

"If we go together-"

"Right! I'll go alone then. We'll have it on hand then. When I'm good and ready."

"Tonight?"

"Christ! No. You can't rush these things. You are so impatient. You're lucky I slept with you, I'm not _sleeping_ with you." Sherlock looked confused at the difference. "I'm not letting you fuck me up the arse"

"Oh, right." Sherlock nodded. "That's not what I was planning."

"What, you want me to-"

"No... something else... with hands... yours are too coarse." John looked down at his hands.

_I thought the same thing not long ago._

"This is all moving too fast. I really didn't intend on hooking up with my flatmate last night." John whined. "I'll go... but seriously..." John threw his hands up in the air and went for his coat. He took in a deep breath and shrugged his coat on to his shoulders. "Right, going to Tesco... to buy lubricant"

_Going to Tesco. To face my dreaded and most feared adversary. The chip and PIN machine._


	2. Crack-Shot

John stood still looking at the crisps. They were only a cover up. He needed to fill his hand basket with something. He had passed the lane with the lubricant ten times, circling it like a shark, any time someone came near he panicked and hid in the next aisle over.

_I just need to go down there, grab the first one I see, and run. Then they'll think I'm trying to steal it. Shit. Shit. No, I need to go calmly, look around a bit. Then they'll think I'm a pervert. They'll know... they'll know I'm planning on having sexual relations with a man. Just lube. Who buys just lube? Girls come with their own lube. This is so terrible. If Sherlock was here it would be another story. Then they'd REALLY know I was... I'm so not gay. I can't be. What am I doing?_

John grabbed four large bags of crisps and shoved them into the basket.

_There. Now I just grab the lubricant, place it in between the bags, nobody can see it. Go over to the chip and PIN machine and very cleverly place it in a shopping bag and no one is none the wiser. Brilliant. Right. Here I go. _

John took a deep breath and started his awkward speed walk down the lane with the lubricant. He stopped at the condoms.

_Shit! Shit! Where is it?_

He bit his lower lip and looked frantically. He heard footsteps. He panicked and walked away. He made his way back to the crisps display. He sighed.

_That was too close. I need to get myself together, just go down there..._

"Sir, may I help you?"

John jumped and let out a small gasp. He turned to see the employee looking at him, looking at the crisps.

_He knows. My God he knows. Or he thinks I fancy crisps. That I really fancy crisps. _

"I'm fine... thanks" John looked worriedly at the employee as they slowly turned and walked off. They looked rather concerned. He waited quite some time before they were a good distance away.

_I need to get out of here. Just grab it, first one I see._

John turned and made his final attempt to purchase lubricant. He spotted a brand as he was walking. He scooped it up and placed it in the basket haphazardly. He reached the end of the lane and turned. He made way, hastily, for the self-checkout.

_Success! Only one obstacle in my way now. Is that?_

John stopped as he came face to face with Molly Hooper. John quickly rearranged the bags and prayed the lubricant was concealed.

"Dr. Watson!" Molly said cheerfully

"Uhh." Was all that would come out of John's mouth.

_Oh shit! I've run into someone I know. She'll look into my basket, say something about the crisps._

"Quite a lot of crisps you have in there."

_Don't forget the lube! It's a party! Shit! Why did I have to run into Sherlock's number one fangirl? This is awkward. Oh my. Have I said anything? How long has it been? I should say something._

"I... I... crisps..." John stuttered. Molly looked at him she looked equally awkward and quite confused. John cleared his throat. "Sherlock... he likes... crisps..."

_Dear God don't see the lubricant. She'll think we're into kinky crisp sex. _

John's knee started to shake, he wanted to retreat.

"Well... I best be going then... got a lot of shopping that needs-" Molly started.

"Shopping! Yes! Shopping, you go on then, I'll get out of your hair then." John walked away swiftly.

"See you later!" Molly shouted. John kept his eyes focused on the open chip and PIN machine. Glory day! Finally no queue a mile long, just him and his beautiful machine that would allow him to discreetly purchase his lubricant. No one would judge him and he could just go on home after and forget this whole thing ever happened.

_Right, I'll start with some crisps, then slyly give the lube a quick scan. _

John scanned the first bag of crisps, placed it in the bagging area, all was going well. He let out a sigh. Second bag, equally smooth transaction. Now for the lube. John grabbed it, gave it a quick swipe.

_It didn't register. Shit. Next bag of crisps, put it back, put it back._

The screen showed an error message. The attendant had been called. John's eyes went wide.

_No! No. This is not how it is supposed to go. _

An old lady, with greasy grey hair and a scowl on her face, limped over. She wore a red vest with a name tag reading "Nan". John gulped.

"Um... I didn't... I don't..." He stammered.

"Your last item." She reached out her hand. She wasn't playing any games, she was all business. John closed his eyes and prayed. He reached into the hand basket and placed the box onto her waiting palm. She gave him a quick glance and he looked away, scratching the back of his neck. She tried giving it a quick scan. She mumbled something. Tried again. Then pulled out her walkie-talkie "Price check" she growled.

A young eager teenager and another associate, his trainer for the day, showed up immediately.

_The only damn time I have ever received service this quickly and I want to crawl in a hole and die._

Nan handed the box over to the older boy and he flipped it over in his hands several times. He appeared to be reading the back.

"Davie, you go on 'n look for a price for this 'en" He tossed the box to the young boy who fumbled it and had to pick it up off the floor. The boy broke out into a sprint in search for a price. The attendant and associate stood in awkward silence while John closed his eyes and wished he was anywhere but here. Nan started shifting weight from foot to foot. The young boy started running back and stopped half-way.

"Can't find it!" He shouted across the store.

"Wha? Is wiv the condoms!" Shouted the older boy.

"What?" The boy shouted.

"Condoms! Rubbers y'know!" The older boy shook his head. "He don't know." He started walking toward the young boy and they both went in search of the rare and elusive lubricant. John had turned a shade of crimson. He looked toward the ceiling.

_Why God why? What have I ever done? Is this a sign?_

The boys returned and the older boy put in the override for the price. John let out a sigh as half the store's employees started heading in different directions. Nan limped away shaking her head, mumbling something. The boys returned to their adventures in stocking shelves. John scanned the last two bags of crisps with ease. He looked at the last bag of crisps.

_I hate you! Why couldn't you not scan? It had to be the lube. _

John swiped his card. Card not authorized. He tried again. Denied. John let out a small groan. He re-selected the cash payment.

_What now? I carry cash now! That's right. It's raining notes in here. Now eat it._

The machine spit out his first tenner. He looked down at it. Clenched his teeth and took in a deep breath. His eye twitched slightly. He tried again. It spat it out.

"Oh come on!" He shouted. He tried again. "Please." It went in and registered. One down, one to go. He sighed and placed the other in the slot. "Please, one more, for me." The machine took it in, thought a moment.

_Yes... yes..._

Then it spat out the second tenner. John leaned over and gently hit his head on the top of the machine. "I was so good to you. Why? I said please. Now take it..." The machine didn't even bother sucking in the note, a red light flashed. "God! Take it like the bitch you are!"

"John?" Molly Hooper stood beside John. He had his head leaning against the machine. He was near breaking. "You... need help?" She held out a newer tenner. John backed away as Molly put the note into the machine with ease. John blinked a couple times.

"Right... it'll do it for you... never mind... Thanks." He handed her his note.

"Yeah... well... guess I'll be seeing you then." She said awkwardly. John grabbed his receipt and change. He ran off with his two bags of groceries.

_Never again._

* * *

John swung open the door to the flat and started growling at Sherlock who was laying sprawled out on the sofa.

"You!" Sherlock looked up confused and pointed to himself. "Yes! You! Do you have any idea the hell I had to go through for this?" John pulled out the box and threw it toward Sherlock. It missed by a mile and hit the coffee table. John let out an aggravated groan. "Never again!"

"The machine?" Sherlock asked innocently.

"They called half the bloody store over to have a look at my lubricant! The price wouldn't scan, I ran into Molly-"

"You... have four bags of crisps... We needed milk..." Sherlock pointed out. John threw the bags on the floor and retreated to his room. He stormed up the stairs. Swung open the door, stepped in, and slammed it shut. John threw himself face first on to the bed. He grabbed a pillow and started screaming into it. He went limp after a few minutes. He heard a light knock at the door. Sherlock opened it gently.

"Are you going out again? We still need milk..." Sherlock was speaking gently, his eyes showed concern.

"Get it yourself, I can never be seen in public again."

"You also forgot the sugar, tea, meat..." John shot a razor sharp murderous look at Sherlock. "You got crisps... crisps are good" Sherlock had his hands behind his back. John groaned.

"Tell me you don't have the lubricant behind your back."

"I won't then."

"Arg. You... Leave me alone! I just had a traumatic experience. I don't need another."

"I wanted to try something else." Sherlock admitted sheepishly.

"You are pressing your luck. You just keep pushing me and pushing me. This is going far too fast. I want off this crazy ride. I'm done."

"No you're not. You haven't even heard my proposal."

"Great, now you're proposing." John sighed. "Well out with it."

"You are frustrated, in need of release. Your hands are callused, the lubricant will make it a less painful experience." John craned his neck to look back at Sherlock.

"You serious?" Sherlock nodded. "You thought I could use a wank, so you sent me out to be publicly humiliated because you think somehow me getting off will do what for you?"

"I thought I would watch" John felt a cold shock run through his body, he coughed a bit.

_Well! Wasn't expecting that one._

"You what?" John sat up to turn toward Sherlock. Sherlock shrugged. John rarely saw Sherlock act shy. John looked around the room trying to gauge what Sherlock was really suggesting. "You'd like to watch me... be intimate... with myself?" John asked. Sherlock nodded. "Why?" John furrowed his brow and tried to look into Sherlock's eyes that were fixed to the floor. Sherlock put his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels.

"Does there have to be a reason?" He offered.

"Everyone has a motive" John retorted. Sherlock scratched the back of his head.

"Curiosity?" He shrugged.

"You mean, you want to watch, right here, right now?" Sherlock nodded. "I'm not even in the mood. I'm so far from it. Plus, you watching, I don't know. That's odd" Sherlock looked off to the side and bit his lower lip. "Were you going to... you know... do it as well?"

"No." Sherlock stopped rocking. "Just observe."

"I'm just... so not in the mood."

_Normal person would say "I understand" and walk away. Sherlock stands there playing Jedi mind tricks until my pants are half off. Maybe he doesn't understand. No doubt about it, he has no idea._

"What, then, would it take to put you in... _the mood_?" Sherlock asked in a low tone. John felt a small fire in his groin.

"Um... suppose kissing would... yeah." John looked at Sherlock.

"Anything else?" Sherlock grimaced at the thought of kissing. John let out a sigh. Any arousal John had was completely lost. He fell backwards on to the mattress and let out an even heavier sigh. Sherlock took a seat next to John and fiddled with the box of lubricant, passing it from hand to hand. John glared at Sherlock.

"What are we doing?" John groaned.

"I'm waiting for you to pull your trousers down and start pleasuring yourself. Here." Sherlock placed the box of lubricant on to John's belly. He gave it a small pat and pretended to wait patiently as he fiddled with his thumbs.

"You are so... so beyond ignorant." John shoved the box off his stomach and turned over on to his side away from Sherlock. "Just leave me alone." Sherlock let out an annoyed sigh and lay down next to John. Sherlock rested his hands on his chest and gave John's backside a quick glance. He turned his gaze to the ceiling when John rolled on to his back as well. They lay there for some time, hip to hip, staring at the ceiling.

_This would be so much less weird if it wasn't my flatmate. Or any person on Earth except Sherlock Holmes. Why couldn't he be a girl? Then he'd be a psychotic bitch. I'd probably still shag him. I don't even know what I should like on him. Sure he's attractive, but attractive to whom? Women? Men? I just see Sherlock. Tall, lanky, bit of a prat... more than a bit... He just does not attract me. _

John turned his head toward Sherlock. He looked all over his face.

_He is good looking. It's more of a textbook good look though. Long, manly face. How's a face manly anyhow? Colourful bright eyes, clever eyes. That doesn't make him that much attractive. Curly dark hair, probably dyes it. Eyebrows, unkempt. Not a single nose hair. Hm. Gets a bit of a double chin when he laughs. He's my best mate. How am I supposed to be enamoured by his face? I'm not punch drunk in love with his looks. I've grown accustomed to his face after all these years. He's like a brother to me. This relationship... is it really a relationship? Whatever it is, it's weird._

"What's wrong with my kissing?" John asked suddenly. Sherlock blinked and turned his face toward John.

"Nothing."

"You said you didn't like it. It was too wet or something." Sherlock sighed and looked at the ceiling once more.

"I didn't like it... I had a... _feeling_" John snorted insensitively.

"Sorry. You had a 'feeling'?"

"Yes. I would appreciate you showing some decency about the matter."

"Oh I am so sorry, I got you all hot and bothered." John chuckled. Sherlock scowled at him.

"I don't need the distraction."

"The distraction of what?" John looked into Sherlock's eyes. "Oh right, well, like you said... You have two hands."

"I can't possibly... it doesn't work with me." Sherlock huffed.

"Uh... wanking?"

"Your choice of words is childish." Sherlock gritted his teeth "And yes._ It_ doesn't work."

"What does then?" John asked curiously.

"That remains uncertain."

"So... you've never even... you know?" John looked intently into Sherlock's eyes.

"No." John's eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"Not even in your sleep?" Sherlock let out a breath through his nose. He was becoming uncomfortable.

"Well yes..."

"Yes you haven't or yes you-"

"I have had nocturnal emissions, now leave it" Sherlock sneered.

"Hm. Maybe you just don't do... it... right." John looked at Sherlock a moment. "Oh... right. So you were going to watch me to... right..." John raised his eyebrows "You want to see how it's done properly?"

"I'll judge for myself whether your performance is worth replicating."

"Great, my performance. The bed's my stage then? Do I get a script?"

"This is a naturalistic observation, pretend I'm not present. I wouldn't want to throw off the results."

"Yeah, taking one look at your ugly mug would keep me from coming indefinitely." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I still need some... um... inspiration..." John searched Sherlock's eyes for his intent.

Sherlock rolled on to his side and wasted no time drawing John into a passionate kiss. He threw a leg over John and drew him in even closer. John was half in shock trying to keep his mind straight as his flatmate started running his long fingers up his shirt front. His finger tips explored John's chest while his tongue explored John's open mouth. As soon as it started it was all over. John was left with his mouth half open and with a half hard-on. His eyes were glazed over from the lust and confusion.

"Inspired?"

"Y-yes..." John gulped. Sherlock stood and made his way to the head of the bed, he fluffed a pillow, and sat. He placed his hands on his lap and stretched his legs out.

"Well?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"R-right, yeah..." John blinked and rolled over on to his back. He scooted back until his head was next to Sherlock's knee. They lay perpendicular on the bed, Sherlock gazing upon his flatmate with intrigue on his face. John took in a breath and reached down to his bulge. He kept his eyes from darting to Sherlock as he fondled his growing erection through his trousers. Sherlock had done a hell of a job turning him on.

John undid his trouser's button and zip and thrust both his hands down the front. Sherlock sat up in anticipation. John went back and forth with which hand to use. He finally decided on the left and began stroking his belly with the right as he began undulating his hips. John bit his bottom lip and rubbed the back of his head into the comforter. It felt good, yet it was nowhere near enough. His attention was broken by the sound of Sherlock opening the box to produce the bottle of lubricant. He held it out to John. John looked at the bottle a moment, his hand down his trousers, his brain working two clicks too slow. He reached out with his right hand and gave Sherlock a small nod of thanks. John rubbed his chin against his chest and closed his eyes once more.

John let go with his left hand and lifted his hips to slide down his trousers to his knees. He resumed fondling himself under his underwear until he heard a small aggravated throaty groan. It hadn't come from him, had it? He looked toward Sherlock who was looking intently at John's clothed erection. John held back a laugh as he grinned. He let a small breath out of his nose. Then he pulled his underwear half-way down his arse to give Sherlock a better look. Sherlock's gaze turned into a stare. John began stroking himself in plain view of his flatmate who was becoming hypnotized by the repetitive movement. Sherlock's jaw went slack and his eyes were fixed on John's member.

John couldn't help but look at Sherlock as well. He felt a shudder down his body when Sherlock's eyes darted to John's face for a moment. John licked his lips and Sherlock gulped.

_He's enjoying this. God I'm enjoying this. Why am I enjoying this? I'm pleasuring myself in front of my flatmate. _

John flipped open the cap to the lubricant and started pouring way too much on his lower belly. He used both hands with great dexterity. He ran his left through the pool of lubricant and used it to slick his cock while he rubbed the rest on to his abs and chest with his right. John tilted his head back and hit Sherlock's knee. He was feeling ecstasy but was no where close to close. He was becoming frustrated and started picking up the pace. He kept his eyes clamped shut and tried to think of something to get himself off.

_Girls. Girls. Girls. Hot wet... no... This isn't working. Men? Sweaty, hairy, gross. Shit._

John's eyes darted open and he looked directly at Sherlock. He groaned.

_Sherlock. His hands on my chest, his hands on my cock, God. His strong smooth hands. So big and absolutely smooth. Want... hands..._

John started to grunt as he rapidly moved his hand up and down his shaft. He forgot about the other hand and it lay still on his chest. He grimaced as he tried his hardest to bring himself there. He tried closing his eyes and imaging Sherlock doing this to him, until it was too much. John sat up and turned to face Sherlock. He crawled on hands and knees, a predatory look in his eyes. Sherlock sat frozen. His eyes darting from John's eyes to his penis and back again.

"Erm." Sherlock stated. John grunted in response. John sat up onto his knees, he grabbed Sherlock's hand by the wrist and yanked it toward him. He wrapped Sherlock's fingers around his cock and started moaning. John threw his head back at the sensation. John held Sherlock's hand steady with both hands and began thrusting with reckless abandon. He was moaning wildly and he was grunting with every thrust as Sherlock looked at his fist with shock.

"Ah. Fuck, so smooth" John groaned. His breathing was as sporadic as his thrusts. His body was shaking from the immense pleasure. He felt close, very close. He began to sweat and pump as hard as he could into Sherlock's fist until he jerked to a stop. Streams of hot white release spurted from him as he orgasmed painfully. John had never seen stars after manual stimulation before. He gave Sherlock's hand one last tight squeeze then let go. Sherlock looked at his hand for a moment. Covered in lubricant and semen. He looked at John who was still in a state of euphoria. His head was thrown back and his face was stuck with his mouth half open. Sherlock looked down at himself. John had shot quite some distance. The majority landed on Sherlock's trousers. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the impressive amount and the distance which it travelled. He looked over the side of the bed. He had got some on the floor as well. Commendable. If Sherlock wasn't thoroughly disgusted at the wet and sticky feeling on his hand.

John's head bobbed down as if he were piss drunk and he looked at Sherlock a moment before his brain registered what he had just done.

"Oh shit." He said, his mouth still half open. "Oh Sherlock. I'm sorry. I didn't... I was..." John grunted slightly. Sherlock had his hand held out, it was starting to leak. He looked at it with confusion and quite a bit of disgust. Sherlock stood the best he could, holding his hand out in front of him, until he could reach a sink. John noticed the spots on Sherlock's black trousers and his embarrassment grew. As Sherlock went to scour his hand John looked over the crime scene. He didn't get a drop on the bed, he looked over the bed and noticed the floor. He snorted.

_Just like a skilled marksmen. I'm a crack shot. _

John pulled up his underwear with his trousers, fastened them and fell into the pillows with a deep sigh of relief. Sherlock appeared in the doorway, he was scrubbing away at his hand with a hand towel.

"Listen Sher-"

"You violated my hand." Sherlock said plainly.

"Yeah." John looked down in shame.

"Cuddle." Sherlock said shortly. John looked up at him and held back a grin. Sherlock threw the hand towel on the floor and climbed into the bed, he turned his back to John and let out a sigh when John held him close. "You didn't even do it properly." Sherlock sighed once more.

"What? I got off..." John let the statement hang in the air.

"Yes, but I don't have three hands. How am I supposed to achieve an orgasm?"

"We'll think of something" John kissed Sherlock's back gently and held him a bit tighter. Once again they immediately dozed off and Sherlock got another five hour cuddle.

Something had to be done about John's improper form.


	3. Three Continents

John knocked back another shot of gin. He coughed as a bit evaporated in his mouth and wafted up his nasal passages. His eyes watered. He needed liquid courage. Tonight was the night!

_Tanqueray? More like Tangque-gay. Gay sex, with my flatmate. I can do this. I can do this. A bit more. Yes. That's right._

John poured one last shot, he spilled a bit on to his hand, it evaporated immediately. It was especially dry gin. He'd be sloshed in no time flat.

_Oh fuck. What bout Sherlock? Oh... I should have got him drunk with me. Shit. It's not too late. _

Sherlock walked through the front door with perfect timing.

"Sherlock!" John stumbled over and threw his arms around his flatmate. "Drink!" He pulled at Sherlock's forearm to drag him into the kitchen.

"You have had quite enough."

"No, silly, you... You drink." John slapped Sherlock's back.

"I'm not letting you have sex with me in your state."

"Who the fuck told you I wanted to have sex?" John took an uneasy step backwards, near tumbling over his own feet. "Oh... you deduced... You... sexy... deducer..." John ran a finger down Sherlock's chest. "Deduce me." John pulled Sherlock into a bear hug and held him tight.

"You're drunk." Sherlock said shortly.

"Wow... that's brilliant! You're so right." John sighed into Sherlock's chest.

"John, I told you I wasn't going to have sex with you."

"Sherlock! You can't, it's been so long. My dick will explode." John whined.

"Like it did, not two days ago?"

"No like... boom" John mimed an explosion.

"We agreed I would help you with your non-sexual desires."

"It's j-just buggering, it's not _sexual."_

"No... it is entirely sexual, it is the definition of sex. It is _anal sex_!" Sherlock shouted. "You should be in bed." Sherlock sighed.

"Yeah, I should." John placed his face against Sherlock's chest. "Wiv you."

"This isn't very becoming of you John."

"Have you coming... all over the place... fuck you on the... fuck... ceiling."

"You would have me on the ceiling? How is that even possible?"

"Suction cups." John snorted. Sherlock shook his head.

"Bed."

"Oh God yes." John allowed himself to be dragged by the forearm up the stairs to his room. Sherlock opened the door and walked John to the bed. He gave John a gentle shove on to the mattress. John began removing his trousers immediately while Sherlock turned and left the room, slamming the door shut.

John looked down at his trousers, then at the door, then back at his pants. He furrowed his brow, he was disappointed. He grabbed his mobile. He tried calling Sherlock's phone. No answer. He stood up and opened his door.

"Sherlock!" He shouted down the stairs. "Sherlock!" He waited for a response. "Sherlock!" He shouted louder. "Oi! Sherlock!"

"What?" Sherlock sneered, peering out from the front door. "All of Baker street is sleeping and so should you! You'll wake the dead with your shouting!"

"You're not sleeping." John pointed out.

"Fix your zip John, you're... you're all but hanging out." John looked down. His trousers were undone and half down his arse. He decided to pull down his underpants as well.

"There! Now I'm hanging out as well." Sherlock looked away from John.

"Go to sleep! We'll discuss this in the morning when you're of sound mind."

"My mind's making plenty of sounds. Now sex!" John shouted.

"You'll wake Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock hissed.

"SEX! SEX! SEX! I want me some gay sex!"

"Insensitive." Sherlock jeered as he slammed the front door, locking it.

"Ah fuck..." John stumbled down the stairs. He started pounding on the front door. "Sherlock! Open up! Come now, this isn't funny. My dick's hanging out! Hey! Sherlock!" John started furiously pounding on the door and started kicking it with his foot. The bottom of the door began cracking in. John kept kicking at it vigorously.

_If I bust it open enough, I can crawl under the damn door. Unlock it, and let myself in. _

"John! Stop it this instant!" Sherlock yelled through the door.

"Lemme in! I just want to have sex! Is that so difficult to understand?" John pulled up his pants and fastened them. "There! I'm all together! Now come out and face me like a man."

"I may have a height advantage but you would use brute force to manoeuvre me into a compromising position. Then you'd have me on the landing. My apologies, but I'm not having my first experience with a belligerent drunkard!"

"A drunkard?" John raised his voice. "I'm... I'm not an alcoholic!" John slammed his fist on the door.

"You're also not gay!" John heard Sherlock's footsteps move away from the door. John pressed his head against the door. He felt a sour pang in his stomach.

"Sher-Sherlock." John clutched his stomach. "Sherlock!" John shouted and pounded a fist on the door. "I'm gonna sick." John's head started spinning. His memory lapsed and there was a pool of vomit on the floor in front of him, next to the door.

_How did that get there?_

John wiped the corners of his mouth. His nose stung from bile. John took a seat with his back to the door. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He started to drift off.

Sherlock abruptly opened the door and John fell backwards. Sherlock pushed a bucket and scrub brush to John and dropped an old towel on his chest.

"Clean that filth up." Sherlock hissed. John nodded his head. He reached for the scrub brush and his memory failed him once more. He awoke at the bottom of the steps, the door was wide open, and his head half hanging out on to Baker Street. He coughed and looked himself over. His knees were soaked in water, his finger tips were wrinkled. He checked his watch twice, unable to make out the time.

_The... it's two? Three? What's... fucking Roman numerals. _

A dark figure swooped down at him and John tried fending him off with feeble slaps to the predator's chest.

"John! John, quit... It's me damn it!" Sherlock's form came into clear view. John was brought to his feet, he began shivering against the cold night's air. Sherlock slammed the door closed behind him. The room started tilting and John tried to keep his balance as the room spun upside down. John fell to the floor, hitting his head hard on the wood floor. John started to moan loudly. "John, you need to get to bed." Sherlock knelt beside John and shook his shoulder.

"Take a fucking hint! I don't want sex with you... fucking queer." John kicked at Sherlock's leg. "Y-you forced me into this!" John shut his eyes and cringed at the pain in his thigh. "Ah... fuck." He clutched on to his leg. Sherlock rubbed a hand on John's upper arm in attempt to soothe him. "Don't touch me." John sneered. John started to tear up. "I just wanted a girlfriend, why? Why did you have to fuck everything up?" John sobbed on to the floor.

John blacked out once more. He awoke on the sofa. Sherlock held out a tablet and a glass of water. John took the pill without question. He gulped down the precious water. He had never had such an unquenchable thirst. He emptied the glass and handed it back to Sherlock. John started to sit up.

_No hang over? How is that... Oh... Still drunk._

John leaned forward and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Shit Sherlock, I didn't mean to get... get so sloshed." John's abdominals clenched and he started to shake. He had a slight buzz and his body was starting to rebel against the lactic acid build-up and hypoglycaemia from the alcohol oxidation. He was going to have one hell of a hang over later. He deserved it. The way he tried to throw himself at Sherlock.

_Oh God and what I said to him about wanting a girlfriend. Smooth John. _

John threw his head back on to the sofa. Sherlock brought him another glass of water. John greedily gulped the second glass down. His stomach was starting to feel uneasy, not exactly nauseous but it didn't feel like hunger either. Sherlock took a seat next to John. John leaned on to Sherlock and placed his head on his shoulder. He let out a sigh.

"It's me isn't it?" John placed a hand on Sherlock's knee.

"Yes."

"I'm the reason I can't... couldn't get a girl." John let out a heavy sigh. "Had nothing to do with you. It's all me, me, me. I'm so fucking stupid." John buried his face into Sherlock's neck. He took it in a heavy breath, trying to absorb all of Sherlock's smell. It was the one spot on Sherlock that smelt purely of him. Essence o' Sherlock. He emitted such sweet pheromones, he absolutely reeked of liquid sex. John felt a stirring in his lower abdomen as he inhaled.

John's lips grazed Sherlock's neck. He began to nuzzle in closer and leave small kisses on Sherlock's shoulder.

"John, stop" Sherlock said, he began breathing harder and John increased the intensity of his kisses. Sherlock's eyes rolled back as John latched on gently and began sucking at his neck, his tongue darting out to lick at the love bite he was creating. John's hand began caressing Sherlock's inner thigh as he passionately attacked Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock's mind was whirling with arousal, he couldn't think straight. This frightened him. He pushed John away. He turned to face John. John's eyes were lust blown and they shook slightly from intoxication.

"Unh, Sherlock please." John ran his fingers tantalizingly up Sherlock's crotch, and cupped his bulge. He began stroking him through his trousers. Sherlock held back a moan. His mind couldn't form the words to tell John to stop, that he was drunk, that this was wrong. John leaned forward, placing a knee between Sherlock's thighs, and brought himself down within an inch of Sherlock's face. He brought his lips close and brushed them against Sherlock's. "Please." John said breathlessly.

John pressed himself closer to Sherlock. John brought him in for a soft embrace. His lips barely grazed Sherlock's, yet Sherlock could feel a jolt coursing through his entire body. He could feel John's clothed erection grinding against his hip. Sherlock's breathing became laboured. John removed his hand from Sherlock's crotch and began running his fingers through Sherlock's hair. He pulled him in closer and began kissing him with more vigour.

John's leg brushed against Sherlock's groin as John rocked his hips against Sherlock. The brief inconsistent friction was agonizing. Sherlock grabbed John's arse with both hands and thrust his hips forward onto John's leg to provide more beautifully satisfying friction. John moaned into Sherlock's mouth and started panting heavily.

"God you're beautiful." John said staring into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock lost his breath and his vision blurred with passion. He crushed his lips against John's and immediately thrust his tongue in to meet John's. His heart pounded in his ears and his cock ached for release. John ground more urgently into Sherlock's hip. John broke off the embrace and once more latched on to Sherlock's neck, his fingers tightened in Sherlock's hair.

It was all becoming too much for Sherlock. He bucked his hips up and clenched his teeth at the sensation of John's tongue and teeth at his neck. Sherlock lost his breath and his vision became fuzzy. A wildly amazing sensation grew inside him. A shock coursed through his spine as he felt a hot wet release. His breath hitched. He let his hips drop.

He was awkwardly aware of the sticky, wet ejaculate in his trousers. He was suddenly withdrawn from the situation, he felt out of his own body as John continued to move against him. He let out a puff of air. John removed his lips from Sherlock's neck and whispered into Sherlock's ear.

"Was it good?" Sherlock gave a small nod. John brushed his lips against Sherlock's ear. "Good." John pressed himself off Sherlock and gave him a look over. He noted the welt on Sherlock's neck, he brushed his fingers against it proudly. John grinned at Sherlock's trembling form. "I'm gonna finish up in the shower, join me when you're ready." John placed a hand on Sherlock's chest and leaned in for a chaste kiss.

John pushed himself up and stumbled a bit to the bathroom. Sherlock lay on the sofa, still breathing heavily. He shifted his hips and felt the wet spot once more. He rubbed his hands against his face and held them there a moment. He groaned into his palms. What had just happened? John was so... He couldn't even start to understand how John turned him on so much.

Was this how he was with women? Who would ever turn John down when he was so irresistible? The way he felt, the ease of his movements, he was incredible. Three continents Watson. Of course. He was sex on two legs. An unassuming modest doctor, with moves that would blow anyone's mind. Sherlock suddenly felt used.

John just wanted to get off, have a shag. Sherlock was available. John would have ground up against anyone or anything in his state. What made Sherlock special? Why did Sherlock even care? He shook his head. This wasn't healthy. He must swallow his emotions and not be upset with John's promiscuous behaviour. Sherlock was just one of many and he felt it. A lump formed in his throat.

He convinced himself he wasn't upset. He decided a change of clothes was in order. He stood up, brushed himself off, and made way for his bedroom. He passed by the bathroom door that was wide open. He tried to look away from John who was lathering himself up with soap after he had furiously got off in the shower. Sherlock sighed. He realized he had stopped in place and was staring at John through the frosted glass.

Sherlock blinked and turned away. He debated joining him. He was a sweaty mess and the sticky state of his underpants was driving him mad. He stripped in the hall and made way for the shower door without giving it a second thought. He slid in behind John and pretended he didn't exist as he shut his eyes and moved his head under the water stream. The near scalding water felt amazing over his spent body. He felt John's hands spider there way across his obliques. John drew Sherlock in for another kiss, his fingers gripping the sides of Sherlock's abs.

Sherlock couldn't pull himself away as hard as he tried. He felt like gel in John's hands. John pulled Sherlock in closer and Sherlock placed a hand against John's chest. John pulled away and looked up at Sherlock.

"Absolutely gorgeous" John said brushing away Sherlock's wet matted hair.

"You're just telling me what you think I want to hear." John drew Sherlock in for a hug and wrapped his arms around tight. He pressed the side of his face against Sherlock's wet chest and breathed a heavy sigh.

"You're brilliantly beautiful. Takes too much liquor to have the courage to tell you so. I'm sorry." John gave Sherlock a tight squeeze and rubbed his face against Sherlock's chest. He began to sway, dancing to imaginary music.

"You're still very drunk."

"Just a slight buzz."

"I should have never-"

"You know you wanted to." John chuckled. John was absolutely right. Sherlock had never wanted anything more when he was caught up in that spectacular moment. He felt warm in John's arms. The nagging doubt in the back of his mind was momentarily quieted. He felt John start to doze off, he held on tight as John started leaning more into him. Sherlock turned off the water and John groaned sleepily.

He lead John by the hand out of the shower. John shivered as Sherlock brushed himself down with a towel. He wrapped the towel around John's lower half and lead him to his bedroom. John fell heavily on to the mattress and Sherlock pulled out fresh underwear out of his dresser and slid them on. He looked back at John who had drifted off into sleep. His towel had fallen off and he was perfectly exposed. Sherlock smiled to himself at John's... cuteness...

Sherlock's seed of doubt came back full force. John would never do this sober. They'd have to be piss drunk to have any type of sexual relationship. Sherlock sighed, not knowing why he gave a damn anyhow. The thought of sex made him uncomfortable. He could have gone his entire life without another person sharing his body. Sherlock pulled on his pyjama bottoms and looked away for a moment.

Gorgeous, beautiful, brilliant. John complemented Sherlock as if he was a woman. Sherlock felt deep resentment for John's statements. John hadn't meant to hurt Sherlock's _feelings_. He didn't know Sherlock's deep torture about being compared to a girl. Sherlock had only recently grown into his body and become more manly. Or androgynous at the least.

He was absolutely despised in his secondary school for being remotely intelligent. The children saw every one of his accomplishments as a boast. The viewed him as a self-absorbed bastard. They picked at anything they could. His childhood nickname became an insult. _Girly Sherly_. After some time and once the children became improperly educated in sex, Sherlock became a gay slur. They picked on him in the school yard, at first just shouting obscenities. Barring him from any social activities. All of the students picked up on it and they became relentless in badgering the feminine looking boy.

Even the young lasses from the sister school down the road knew about Sherlock and his supposed reputation. Some regarded him with hostility, others sought to have him over for slumber parties. Sherlock began to more and more shy away from girls, only affirming his school mates' suspicions.

Sherlock began to rebel against the onslaught of homophobic remarks. He'd lash out at anyone who would call him gay. He'd notice subtle attributes about the students in his school, he'd listen in on their conversations, and before long he was able to throw back any insult that was thrown at him.

"_You only resent me because your daddy left, because he decided... he just doesn't love you." _

Sherlock had effectively scared off the majority of the school from bullying him. They hated him from a far. He found it worked well on his teachers as well. They'd call him out to humiliate him when he wasn't paying attention and he'd mention their wife's affairs or their incestuous encounters and he'd be immune for the rest of the semester.

He was a constant habitant of the head teacher's office. The man was over worked and constantly drinking black coffee. His hands shook whenever Sherlock was around. He had stopped handing out punishments because he knew the Holmes family and the power they had over the school. Sherlock would grin smugly and spend his obligatory sentence, near everyday, in his office. Scouring through old textbooks, absorbing university level material.

Sherlock grew to like the power he had over the school. Of course he knew what people said behind his back, but he was immune now. He felt completely at ease in the head teacher's office among all of his scientific journals and odd knick-knacks. It was cozy. The head master was the closest thing he had to a "friend" at the school. He was deeply saddened by Sherlock's presence but did great work as Sherlock's advisor, getting him squared away for uni. Even perhaps indirectly inspiring him to take up Chemistry.

"Holmes. The more you bar yourself off from society, the harder it will be to coup in the real world." His head teacher told him one day.

"I don't _need_ people."

"You're only setting yourself up for failure young master Holmes." It was then that Sherlock decided he would no longer make his visits to the head teacher's office daily. He'd simply skip out of school whenever he was in trouble. It was simple enough, he just walked off the campus, went for a long stroll, and waited for his brother to hunt him down.

However, his lashing out and constant outbursts bit him back hard. Five new students joined his class, five golden haired tan boys, all footballers and wildly popular from the instant they stepped foot in the halls of Sherlock's school. They were instantly drawn to Sherlock who was weak prey. They'd swarm him after school and start up the all too familiar homophobic jokes. Everyone found it humorous once more to pick on young Sherlock. They stopped caring that he knew every bit about their home lives.

Then with two words, Sherlock's abuse went from verbal to physical.

"Fucking Mormons." was all Sherlock had to say, when he was tossed to the ground and beat mercilessly by a chorus line of well placed kicks from the golden boys. His ears rung with "Girly Sherly" and his face burned with anger. Every time he tried to get up, he was shoved back down. He was beaten into submission. He curled up into a ball and refused to cry. It all ended with the five boys taking turns spitting on him and leaving him in the front lawn, an absolute mess. He was bloody and bruised and unaware of his brother standing over him.

His brother lifted an eyebrow as he gazed down at his younger brother.

"I see you finally got the beating you deserve." He sneered. Sherlock went absolutely feral and threw himself at his brother trying to land a blow across his snide face. He wanted to beat the posh out of him. Mycroft stepped to the side and swept Sherlock off his feet with his umbrella. Sherlock had the wind knocked out of him when he hit the ground, he lay in shock for a moment.

"You're supposed to help me. You're my brother damn it." Sherlock cried.

"You say that as if it should mean something." Mycroft offered the handle of his umbrella to help Sherlock up. Sherlock smacked it away and got up on his own. He wiped away his tears. Then drew his older brother in for a hug. He sobbed into his brother's waist-coat while Mycroft rolled his eyes.

After little convincing, Mycroft had him pulled out of school. He finished his last years with a tutor. He spent all of his time away from his peers and settled into being more and more anti-social. Any hope he had at making friends was lost and when it came time to leave for uni, his socio-pathic lifestyle was set in stone.

Sherlock snapped back to attention as John became restless in bed. He had rolled over on to his stomach, his hips were slightly elevated causing his round arse to be sticking up in the air suggestively. Sherlock had never noticed John's bottom before. It felt good in his hands earlier but now getting a full view, caused him to have _feelings_.

He pushed away his arousal and shook his head. He walked over and covered John's back with the comforter. He placed a hand on John's covered bum and lingered a moment. He pushed away before his mind started racing with ideas.

It wasn't a sleeping night for Sherlock so he retreated to the kitchen to work on other experiments. Ones not involving his flatmate.


End file.
